


Cinnamon Roll

by bookjunkiecat



Series: Mystrade Story Times [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Greg, Bottom Mycroft, Bottoming from the Top, Inspired by a twitter post, Inspired by that video of Rupert being silly, M/M, Mycroft is sexually confident but an emotional cinnamon roll, Mystrade Story Time, Originally posted to Twitter, Roman setting, Top Greg, Top Mycroft, do not copy to another site, from acquaintances to lovers, here be sex y'all, holiday sex, locked to AO3, lovers to relationship, safe sex, that really narrows it down I know, they move fast as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:56:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22819549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: Greg's having a lovely evening out in Rome, enjoying the crowds, and drinking wine. He gets an unexpected treat in the form of Mycroft Holmes, whom he runs into at a restaurant. They share a meal and more, ending up back at Mycroft's hotel for a night of passion. It's been years since Greg was with anyone, and he feels an instant connection with Mycroft, a man he's long admired and desired.In the morning light Mycroft watches a sleeping Greg and thinks about how perfect everything has been, fleeting as it will be. But Greg might just have a surprise for him.
Relationships: Mycroft/Greg, Mystrade - Relationship
Series: Mystrade Story Times [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1335472
Comments: 17
Kudos: 132
Collections: Mystrade StoryTime





	Cinnamon Roll

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted to Twitter. I've edited it slightly to account for formatting limitations.

_Rome, sunset_

"C'mon, Greg," Lucie cried, phone shaking with the force of her giggles. "You're ruining the shot! Move your arse!" Her girlfriend, Aisling, shook her head. Vamping for her, Greg did a little noodle-armed dance, trying to look serious, but his bright smile kept breaking through. Aisling joined in Lucie's laughter as he twirled, striking a pose, hands on his hips, mugging at the camera. "And...vogue!"

"I hate you," Lucie sighed, stopping recording. "That view of the sunset was perfect."

He slung an arm over her shoulders, "Aw, you don't really hate me, do you?"

"Stop flirting with my wife," Aisling said, mock sternly.

"We're not married yet," Lucie reminded her. She wrinkled her nose at Greg, "Besides, your ancient charms don't work on me. Lesbian, remember?"

"As if I could forget. Four years of being housemates in our formative years have seared it into my memory--ancient though it may be." Greg grinned, "The walls were very thin."

"Ew," Aisling drawled, refilling her wineglass and propping her feet up on the railing of the tiny balcony the three of them were crowded on. "I can't ever tell if the two of you have a cute friendship or a truly disgusting one."

"Both," they said nearly in unison, and smirked. Greg gave Lucie a little shake. "Alright, you two. Are we headed out for more gorgeous Italian sights and copious amounts of drink or are the two of you old ladies planning on turning in early?"

"Erm..."

He rolled fond eyes, "If you want to be alone, just say so."

Lucie was apologetic, "It's just..."

"Hey, when you invited me to tag along I told you to just warn me to shove off if you needed to do it, or whatever."

Aisling snorted, "Maybe we want to be romantic, arsehole."

"Fisting can be romantic," Greg said solemnly.

"Oh my god," Aisling muttered. He cackled and Aisling narrowed her eyes at him. "I can never tell when you're joking," She frowned, "You're so...effervescent when you're not being a jackbooted thug."

"Ouch. I paid for breakfast and that's the thanks I get?"

"It's not my fault you're part of a faschist state."

_"Anyway,"_ Lucie said hastily, "I hope you don't mind being on your own tonight." She obviously wasn't really worried; their friendship went back to their teens and theirs was an easy relationship.

"Naw, I'm fine. I'll wander about, have a drink. Maybe pick up some gorgeous Italian. I'll be fine, you two go be lovey-dovey and filthy and whatever you please." He kissed Lucie's temple, "See you in the morning." He winked at Aisling as he stepped over her stretched out legs. "Assuming you two can be arsed to get out of bed in time. I'm hoping none of us will feel like getting up until after lunch."

"Go get 'em, Greggles," Lucie teased.

* * *

Several hours later, in a gentle, warm glow from the half-carafe of robust red wine he'd been leisurely drinking, Greg was thinking of ordering a plate of nibbles. The evening was warm, the city flowing around him. There were laughing, talking people all around; even alone he wasn't truly alone. Despite his words to Lucie and Aisling, Greg wasn't going to actively pursue getting anyone into bed. It had been a while--a long while--but while he was definitely in the mood for some company, he didn't some nameless encounter. Surrounded as he was by strangers, there wasn't any chance for more than a few interested glances. Greg was too old and wise for an anonymous, sweaty encounter. Just as he was flagging down a waiter, someone bumped into his arm, jostling him.

"Oh I beg your pardon!"

"No worries, mate," Greg said, surprised to hear an English voice, surrounded as they were by a polyglot group mostly consisting of Italian-speaking locals. He glanced up, smiling, "No harm done.--Mycroft?"

Regarding him in mild surprise, Mycroft smiled crookedly, "Gregory." He seemed pleased to see Greg, which engendered a warm glow in his chest.

Greg couldn't even stand, the sidewalk was too crowded; he put out a friendly hand, shaking Mycroft's heartily. Mycroft was nearly pushed into his lap as a harried waiter squeezed past. "Hi," he said foolishly. "I can't--wow. Surprised to see you here."

Mycroft smiled, shifting a little closer, "I could say the same." He shuffled closer still, murmuring an apology, as a group moved past. "I apologize for interrupting your evening. I should find the waiter before my table is claimed by someone else."

"Yeah, don't want to keep your friends waiting."

"Friends? No, no. I'm here alone."

Greg's heartrate picked up, pattering hopefully. "S'm I." He bit his lip, blurting out, "Would you...like to join me?"

"Oh well, I--" Mycroft jumped as a stranger put their hand on his shoulder as they passed. "If you're sure?"

"Please," Greg indicated the other chair, "It'd be my pleasure."

Mycroft sat and they smiled a bit awkwardly at one another, both discomfited by being thrust into a situation outside their normal sphere. "I was just going to order something to eat," Greg said, "Have you had dinner?"

"No, I was attending an evening choir concert and then I wandered the streets for a while," Mycroft scooted his chair closer to avoid the jostling crowd, his knees bumping Greg's under the tiny table. "I'm quite famished."

"Thirsty too, I imagine!" Greg caught the eye of the waiter, "I'm having red, that alright with you?"

"More than." Mycroft smiled at him. Greg was struck by easy he seemed. Holiday attire suited him; rumpled linen, loose hair, a relaxed smile. Greg could really get used to this Mycroft, who smiled easily as he leaned back in his chair, long fingers playing with his wine glass. His usually inscrutable gray eyes were trained on Greg's in a way that should have been uncomfortable. Indeed, it was making Greg very warm. 

* * *

Mycroft's room was blessedly cool as they stumbled through the door, the handle banging off of the wall. Giggling, they fell, shushing another in turn, only growing louder. _"Shhhh!"_ Mycroft waved an admonishing finger at Greg, who grabbed it and popped the digit in his mouth.

"Mmmph," Greg moaned, sucking on Mycroft's elegant finger.

"Whaaa?" Mycroft asked, dazed, staring at Greg's mouth.

Greg let go with a _pop!_ "I said _'mmmm._'" He stepped in close again, carelessly closing the door behind them. He put his hands on Mycroft's waist, "You taste good."

"I...so do you," Mycroft replied breathlessly, dipping his head to kiss Greg again. They'd barely been able to keep their hands off of one another during their protracted, leisurely dinner. They'd ridden back in the cab, kissing frantically, all discretion gone. Mycroft'd gasped out that the lift was terribly slow, so they'd chased each other up the stairs, laughing breathlessly.

"God, your arse is a work of art!" Greg had groaned, crowding up behind Mycroft as he fumbled to unlock his hotel room door. Which had led them to this moment. Pressing Mycroft against the wall with his body, Greg returned his kiss with equal enthusiasm. "Bloody gorgeous," he groaned, nibbling on Mycroft's jawline. "Fuck me."

"I plan to," Mycroft promised, running his hands down Greg's back to cup his arse in his hands. "That is if you're amenable?"

In answer, Greg ground against him, humming agreement. "Can't think of anything I'd rather have than you inside me."

"Gregory," Mycroft murmured, sliding a hand between his waistband and shirt, savouring skin. Fingers clumsy in their eagerness, Greg worked at the buttons of Mycroft's shirt, easing it open, seeking the sleek heat of his bared skin. He lavished open-mouthed kisses down the length of Mycroft's damp neck, tasting salt, sweat and male. They groaned in tandem, shaking. "God," Mycroft gasped, working to unbuckle Greg's belt, "You're dangerous."

"Likewise, sweetheart," Greg laughed low. He succeeded in unleashing the last button and pushed Mycroft's shirt off his shoulders as Mycroft let Greg's trousers drop to his ankles. Amazingly neither tripped on their way toward the bed. They did, however, fall onto the mattress gratefully, laughing as they bounced, and nearly brained themselves. The bedframe creaked alarmingly, but held up. Mycroft rolled so he was on top, straddling Greg's thighs. "There's a sight," Greg sighed, running appreciative hands up Mycroft's chest. He licked his lips, "Can't believe I'm finally seeing you like this..."

Mycroft cocked a brow at the 'finally.' "We'll come back to that later," he said firmly. Reaching for his waistband, he smiled. Greg busied himself with pulling off his shirt and they came back together, flinging aside clothes to lie skin to skin. Mycroft hummed, kissing him. His tongue was sweet with wine and hot with need. Greg whined a little. It had been so damned long and Mycroft was so damned hot. Despite their urgency, they were neither one in a rush. Stroking Greg with unhurried hands, Mycroft made love to him, gentle and sure. Greg sank his teeth into his lower lip, panting a little, as Mycroft kissed his way down Greg's torso. Nuzzling his belly button, Mycroft paused, "Condom?"

He blinked, "Um...oh, yeah...I um, don't have any." He cursed his unpreparedness. _Damn!_

"I do..." Mycroft kissed his hipbone, left the bed to pad into the tiny _en suite._ Returning, he tossed a string of condoms at Greg, who caught them to his chest with a laugh.

"You're optimistic!"

"I like to be prepared for any eventuality," Mycroft smiled wickedly, tearing open one of the condoms. He inspected it, to make sure he hadn't torn it in his eagerness, then rolled it down Greg's length with a hot palm. Greg gasped, arching into his touch. "Like that?" Mycroft asked hoarsely, and immediately swallowed him down, not stopping until he had all of Greg in his mouth. Greg let out an explosive breath, senses whiting out before he came back on line with a jolt.

Dear God, how long had it been? "God, yeah, sweetheart," Greg crooned, burying one hand in Mycroft's hair, ruffling it madly with his restless fingers. The other hand fisted in the duvet as he fought to keep from thrusting up into Mycroft's mouth. "God...Mycroft..." Mycroft hummed, mouth working as he brushed his lubed fingers over Greg's bollocks, trailed them over his arse. Greg's head pressed back into the pillow and he swallowed a whimper. "Yeah..."

"Yes?" Mycroft toyed lightly with his fingertips, tormenting Greg.

"Please, Mycroft..." He hissed in startled pleasure-pain at the first slow breech of Mycroft's finger. It had been literal years since he'd last been in this position, and he had to remind himself to relax.

"Breathe, Greg," Mycroft said, dropping a soft kiss on his thigh. "We'll stop if you need."

"Naw," Greg assured him, taking several deep breaths and letting them out slowly. He tried to relax into the mattress. "I'm good."

"There's no rush," Mycroft murmured, licking at Greg's crown with the flat of his tongue. He moved his finger again, slowly. "We have all night..." By the time Greg was loose and relaxed--even more, eager--he was at a fever pitch. Frankly, he had no idea how Mycroft was still in control of himself. It was sexy as fuck. "How do you prefer it?" Mycroft asked, rolling on his own condom. "On your back, or your knees?"

"Back." Greg didn't want to miss a minute of this. While he'd be thrilled if this..._thing_...went on past tonight, he was realistic. The Mycroft he'd spent hours with was not the tightly controlled man he knew in London. So he'd take every opportunity he could to indulge. They both went still and breathless at the first inexorable nudge of Mycroft's heated flesh into Greg's arse.

"Bear down," Mycroft reminded him, one hand petting Greg's stomach.

He nodded shakily, staring at the ceiling, "'m okay, keep going."

Mycroft did, gentle and attentive, coaxing and encouraging as he slid fully inside Greg. His face was flushed and sweat-damp, his hair curling at his forehead. He licked his lips, eyes on Greg. "Alright?"

"Mmm, yeah..." Greg reached to cover Mycroft's hands, on his hips, with his own. "Feels...good..." it didn't entirely, not yet, but the promise of pleasure to come was seducing his senses. Mycroft took him at his word, moving slowly, fluidly. His body, swaying over Greg's with such grace, was mesmerizing. Unable to help himself, Greg reached for Mycroft. He put his hands over the other man's chest and Mycroft covered them with his own, his eyes steady on Greg's. The warm fullness in his arse, the intense regard, Mycroft's elegant hands touching him...Greg gasped, heat rushing into his groin. As his cock started to fill again, Mycroft smiled, a little cocky and knowing.

"Better now? Not so intimidating as you recalled?"

"Dickhead," Greg gasped fondly. "Don't read my mind during sex."

"I don't--" Mycroft faltered, gasping, as Greg tightened his passage around him. "I don't _read_ minds!" His head tipped back as he groaned. _"Fuck,_ Gregory..."

"Love to hear you say my name," Greg praised, linking his legs around Mycroft's slim hips as well he could. He'd feel this tomorrow. In his hips, his thighs, his arse. _Good,_ he thought, _let me feel it._ Let him feel every moment. Let it be branded into his skin. He wanted to soak up every iota of pain and pleasure...it was all worth the emotional crash that was coming later, when this was just a hazy dream of a holiday fling.

"Gregory..."

"Yeah...Mycroft..."

Mycroft closed his eyes. He looked undone, unravelled. Miles and years away from the tense, careworn, overburdened man plotting and scheming and ruling from his office. Right now, in this moment, in this anonymous Roman hotel room, in the dark, damp confines of the night, he was Greg's.

"Ah! God...Mycroft, I'm gonna...oh God..." Mycroft's hand closed around Greg's straining cock and he yelled, overcome, coming in leaping pulses, shaking hard as Mycroft stroked him through it. Panting, limp, he sank to the mattress. Mycroft pulled gently out and angled over him. Greg held Mycroft as he collapsed. Holding himself over Greg with one trembling arm, Mycroft kissed him with desperation, hand working himself until he came, shaking hard. Shushing him, Greg gathered him close, feeling the powerful thud of his heart. "Easy, darlin'..." 

* * *

_Rome, sunrise_

Unlike most days, Mycroft woke slowly, languid and peaceful. His limbs felt heavy, his mind peaceful. Opening his eyes, he saw the pelt of silvering chest hair in front of his eyes and the night before sprang into his memory. He lost his breath as it rushed back. Stretching a little, he couldn't resist snuggling closer, despite the warmth trapped under the sheet pulled across their naked bodies. Lying a hand on Gregory's chest, feeling the beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his breath, Mycroft closed his eyes, committing it to memory. Normally his mornings came at the bidding of a strident alarm, duties already piled up, waiting for him with bloody teeth and eager eyes. He went from the peace of sleep to suited and shod, moving seamlessly, if joylessly, into a long work day. Rarely did he have days he slept in. It seemed that his body refused to allow him to sleep in today, either. 

He could see the vivid glow of sunrise colouring the curtains at the windows. No matter...today, if any day, he wanted to be awake every moment he could. Soon enough Gregory would wake, they would part. This fantastical dream would end and he'd have to return to his usual life, his usual routine. Breathing in Gregory's intoxicating smell, Mycroft let his toes brush against his calf. He resisted the urge to nuzzle Gregory's nipple. Much as he'd adore to wake the man slowly, sensually, he couldn't help but wonder if Gregory would be subject to regret in the light of day. He lay quietly, softly stroking Gregory's stomach, content to lie quietly in the circle of his arm and watch the colour behind the curtains grow brighter. He let his mind wander. The sardonic, bright-eyed, long-suffering Detective Inspector whom he encountered in London had not been at all present the night before. In his place had been a Gregory of whom Mycroft had only dared dream in the quiet fastness of his bedroom on lonely nights. Warm, flirtatious, dark eyes hotly intent on his own. He'd touched Mycroft's hand, his wrist, let their knees brush together. Offered bites of his food, poured more wine. He was friendly, effusive, clearly subject to desire. All the signs were there. 

Mycroft'd held his breath lest it disappear like a wine-soaked daydream. It hadn't, however. Every moment of the night before had been thrillingly real. Viscerally delightful. The memories would be engraved in his mind and beating in his blood forever. Closing his eyes he dozed. 

Waking sometime later, he sensed he was alone in bed, but not in the room, before he'd even opened his eyes. Inhaling in preparation for what might greet him, Mycroft shifted in bed. Gregory was standing at the window, curtains parted, staring at the view of the narrow street. Hearing--or perhaps sensing--Mycroft, he looked over his shoulder, dark eyes soft. His hair was rumpled, his lips red, face stubble abraded. Mycroft, remembering the second time, fumbling and eager in the dark, his rapacious hands, Gregory's hungry mouth, blushed. 

Smiling at him, heavy-lidded and sensual, Gregory turned away from the window, "Good mornin', darlin'. Sleep well?" 

Good Lord, what it did to him, to hear Gregory use that warm drawl, those tender endearments, dropped so casually. "What little I got," Mycroft said, smiling a little. His throat was dry, but he was loathe to leave the bed for water. Not with Gregory looking like that. 

"Same." Gregory crawled onto the bed, easing himself over Mycroft, who welcomed him happily. They traded kisses, and Mycroft soon forgot his dry mouth and slight hangover. "Mmm," Gregory hummed, pulling back to smile. "I could get used to waking up like this." 

"It's far superior to my usual mornings," Mycroft agreed, resisting the urge to ask the man to spend the rest of his time in Rome in this bed with him. Gregory shifted, bringing his hardening cock into contact with Mycroft's, drawing a whimper from him. He groaned in response. 

"Feel seventeen again," Gregory murmured, sucking a lovebite into Mycroft's neck. It was never going to fade before he returned to London. He found he didn't care. Let his colleagues see it and know what he'd been up to. "But I never had anyone as gorgeous as you in my bed." 

Mycroft's face was flushed and he knew his eyes were betraying his surging emotions, "Where were you when I was seventeen?" He demanded, trying to lighten the mood lest he fling himself on the man's chest and beg him to keep meeting once they were home again. 

"Getting up to no good at uni before I dropped out and joined the Met," Gregory grinned, dipping his head to suck another mark, this one on Mycroft's upper chest. 

"You're so...oral," Mycroft managed, loving it. 

"Like marking you up, posh," he growled. Mycroft shivered. _Lord,_ this man. He was used to being in control in his sexual encounters, but Mycroft found that he wanted to submit, to take Gregory's passion and feel the focus of his attention on him. He shifted a little, guiding one of Greg's warm, rough-palmed hands to his hip and rolling a little so he could grasp his buttock in his hand. Reading his body language, Gregory hummed. "You, ah, ever like to bottom?" 

Mycroft swallowed dryly, licked his lips. Gregory's eyes darkened at the sight. "It's been some time since I trusted a man enough..." 

"But?" 

He drew Gregory down, craving his lips, his tongue. They were panting raggedly when they parted. "I trust you implicitly, Gregory." 

Gregory's head dropped, his forehead pressing to Mycroft's. He breathed in for a moment, clearly affected. "God, gorgeous, you say things like that and you better be prepared for the aftermath." 

"Promises, promises..." Mycroft taunted and laughed delightedly when Gregory pounced. It had indeed been many years since he'd been willing to leave himself in such an emotionally vulnerable position, but Mycroft was confident that Gregory was the right man to trust himself to. As he eased himself down on Gregory's erection, watching Gregory's pupils swallow up his eyes as Mycroft's arse swallowed his cock, he knew that he was giving himself to this man, a piece at a time. Yet he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Not this. Not with Gregory. Seated fully astride him, Mycroft braced his hands on Gregory's thighs and arched his back, moving his hips slowly, letting himself become accustomed. 

"Yeah, posh," Gregory praised, running his hands up Mycroft's torso, skimming his sides, palming his nipples, "Fuck me up, you're gorgeous. Look at you, God...ride me, sweetheart." Mycroft swayed, eyes on Gregory, licking his lips, biting them, sinking his teeth slowly into his own flesh. Gregory cursed, pupils enormous, hands urgent on Mycroft's hips as he watched Mycroft ride him. "Touch yourself," he commanded softly. Mycroft let his hands pass over his body, trail over his nipples, brush his stomach, encircle his straining erection. He moaned, biting down on his swollen lower lip, eyes trained on Gregory's. The other man sighed at the sight, murmuring endearments and encouragement. The touch of his own hand was too much, coupled with Gregory's words and gaze, and Mycroft came, shaking as Gregory grasped his hips and drove up into him. 

As the last aftershocks left him, Mycroft swayed, lightheaded. He was dimly aware of Gregory's orgasm taking him over. Shaking through his own release, Gregory nevertheless caught him, rolling so they were on their sides. Mycroft let Gregory arrange his limbs and pull him close. Rubbing his face hard into Gregory's sweaty chest, he felt as much as heard the other man laugh breathlessly. "You're demanding as a cat, aren't you, posh?" Gregory ran a soft hand over Mycroft's hair, "Want me to pet you?" 

Mycroft nodded, smiling, and his eyes drifted closed as Gregory ran soothing hands up and down his back. His blunt fingers sifted through Mycroft's hair, stroking. Drowsy, Mycroft moved his face to get more air and laid his cheek against Gregory's pectoral, over his heart. He felt as relaxed and content as a cat napping in the sun. "I never want to move again," he slurred sleepily. His stomach rumbled loudly and they laughed. "Although breakfast would be good. And coffee." 

"I'd murder someone for a cinnamon roll and an espresso," Gregory agreed, not moving as he ran a soft palm down Mycroft's back. 

"Beast," Mycroft accused, "I haven't had a cinnamon roll in _ages,_ but that sounds divine." 

"Wonder if this place has 'em?" 

"For the right price," Mycroft assured him, "a good concierge will obtain anything." 

"So there's a cinnamon roll in our future?" Gregory's voice was hopeful. The sheer _cuteness_ of it made Mycroft dizzy with the need to indulge his every desire. He wanted to cling to him like a koala and never let go. 

_"Two_ cinnamon rolls," Mycroft corrected. 

Gregory chuckled, "Not gonna share?" 

"I don't share," Mycroft said. 

Tipping his head up, Gregory regarded him steadily, "Not anything?" They were very clearly not talking about pastries anymore. 

"I'm rather dog-in-the-manger when it comes to my possessions. I've lived alone for a long time." 

"So you're a one-man man?" Gregory hesitated, "Happy to be alone?"

"Gregory..." Mycroft held his breath, "Are you...are you asking if I'm seeing anyone?" 

"Don't think you are," he assured him, "You're not the sort to sleep around on someone. I guess I'm asking--badly--if you'd be willing to see _me_ again? More than a one-night stand." 

Closing his eyes against the sudden surge of elation, Mycroft managed to school his expression to something socially acceptable. Although not, if the bright-eyed look of happiness on the other man's face were any indication, entirely successfully. "Willing? No." Gregory's eyes tightened and before he could mistake him, Mycroft hurried on, _"Eager,_ yes. Wildly, embarrasingly eager." 

Gregory grinned, laughed, "You bastard! Nearly broke my heart." 

"Inadvertent, I assure you." Mycroft squashed down the desire to warn Gregory just how high the likelihood was of Mycroft disappointing him in the near future. He'd never had a relationship work out for any appreciable length of time. His responsibilities--both to the Crown and to Sherlock, had seen to that. Although...Gregory was equally invested in his own career. And more than familiar with the personal and professional toll Sherlock enacted upon one. Deciding that for once he wanted to look forward to a relationship with eagerness and optimism, not be mourning it before it had begun, Mycroft drew him close, "Your heart is safe in my hands, Gregory. I'll treat it with the tenderest care." 

Gregory's eyes glittered with tears and brimming emotion, "Guess I just need to get you your own cinnamon roll to make sure we keep on even footing." 

Mycroft's eyes glittered with delight, "For you, Gregory, I might even share my pastries..."


End file.
